


Collision

by adastra615



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Blood, Car Accidents, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, a gratuitous amount of angst, my favorite crack pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adastra615/pseuds/adastra615
Summary: Mr. Gold hits Dr. Hopper with his car.





	Collision

When it rained both his Cadillac and his ankle acted up. It was never a good combination. It had been rough in the pawn shop as he tried to lean surreptitiously against the glass of one of his display cases because he didn't want anyone to see him appearing quite so weak.

***

The road was slick and the brakes needed repair, so it was with a fatalistic resignation that he knew what was going to happen as he neared the large puddle swamping the street. He pushed down as hard as he could against the brake, and the car just was not slowing enough. He was going to pass through the stop sign and just slide through the intersection. Luckily no one was approaching in the other lanes; he would be able to see their headlights in this downpour. He caught a flash of red in his peripheral; an umbrella - someone crossing the street - and he gritted his teeth. He tried to jam the pedal down to the floor, feeling the brakes grinding, fighting to find traction, and then there was a sickening thunk. The sound of metal being crushed and someone landed on the front of the hood. And then of course, after all that, the car stopped. A sharp pain started at the edge of his hairline. Had he hit his head? The seatbelt hadn’t worked right for a while now. Thin cracks spread across the windshield from the impact.  

“Oh god. Oh fuck," he mumbled under his breath as he struggled to open the door. The handle was stuck. He pushed hard against it with his shoulder and it finally gave. He stood up, leaving his cane on the passenger side seat. The road was so slick he slipped, hitting his knee against the pavement. He barely felt it.  He used the hood of the car to balance himself as he moved towards the front of the Cadillac. The hood was now dented horribly in the middle. He sucked in a breath, afraid to see the carnage.

"Are you okay?” He found himself saying stupidly. His hands were shaking, and some cowardly part of him wanted to get back in the car and back up and not look, because he probably just murdered someone. He stood unable to move forward, trying to peer around, but then he didn’t have to because a hand lifted and tried to use the dented hood of the car to lever themselves up.

Gold wanted to shout, “Why weren't you looking! Didn't you see the car?!” But it died in his throat. He was always caught somewhere between fear and anger, and he never quite knew how he was going to react in a stressful situation. His emotions were almost too volatile to handle sometimes. His hands were shaking so badly, he tucked them in his coat pockets before he turned the corner.

"Dr. Hopper," he said under his breath.

The man was sitting dazed in the middle of the road. At least he was sitting up, Gold noted in a strange detachment that belied his panic.

 "Who’s there?" Dr. Hopper mumbled, his voice frighteningly quiet, and Gold leaned painfully forward.

"Let me help you up." _Call the ambulance, you idiot_ , he thought. He started to feel around for his phone and with a jolt remembered leaving it next to the cash register back at his store. It wasn't like him at all to be so absentminded. His leg had hurt so much, he'd just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. He remembered grabbing his cane, tightening his grip, as little splotches of darkness flecked his vision. Now he barely felt the tightness in his leg, he could have a run a mile, his heart beating so fast against his eardrums.

He stood there motionless looking at the poor doctor; his glasses somewhere not on his face. He should find his glasses for him. Blood ran down from a cut on his forehead. He was sitting awkwardly holding his arm close to his body.

"Do you have your phone?" he managed to ask, his mouth suddenly so dry he could barely speak.

 

"My pocket," the doctor said his gaze absent. He didn’t move. Gold bent down and even if he couldn’t feel the pain in his ankle right now it didn’t mean that the damaged ligaments had magically healed. He was either going to topple forward or have to kneel unceremoniously on the wet street. He opted for the latter less embarrassing option, even though he could feel the cold grime of the street soaking through to his knee. He got a closer look at Dr. Hopper and something constricted in his chest. There was already a dark bruise forming on his cheek.

"Dr. Hopper," he said, hoping to get some sort of response out of him. "You've been in an accident,” he said because he couldn't bring himself to say, “I hit you with my car.”

"You ran me over," he said though in reply.

Gold didn’t quite know what to say to that. "I didn't quite run you over. Hit you,  is more like it ," he said.

"I have to get back to work," he said and started to draw his feet underneath himself.

 "Wait- no-“ Dr. Hopper had one leg bent and was wobbling to his feet. "Wait. I think we should call someone. You really shouldn't be moving. You're a bloody doctor aren't you? Surely you know this already.”

Archie was already standing. Gold tried to struggle to his feet, but whatever adrenaline had been keeping his damaged ankle going had dissipated. He tentatively put weight on it and great a pain shot up his leg, every nerve bursting to life, and he bit his tongue trying not to scream. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he pulled air in sharply through his nose. He noted through the pain - his hands pressed against the grimy street, the cuffs of his suit soaked through, the rain running through his hair and down his face and into his eyes - that Dr. Hopper’s glasses were mere inches from his fingertips.  He pulled them shakily closer to himself.

“Here,” he said holding them up.

Dr. Hopper hovered by the front of the car, and maybe it was seeing someone other than himself in pain that brought some of his normally kind conscious back to the forefront.

"I think you need a doctor,” Dr. Hopper said still sounding a little dazed. “Let me call an ambulance.” Gold laughed at the irony and thought he might start crying if this continued any longer.

"Let me help you up.”

"My cane, it's in the car. "

“Of course. Of course," Dr. Hopper said in that breathy way of his.

Gold was becoming quite aware of how many people were probably watching; already there was a small crowd. He didn't want to have to face anyone to explain the situation. Dr. Hopper was fumbling with the door and soon had it opened. He put the cane down on the dented hood.

"Oh my, did I do that?" he asked. "I should have been paying better attention, I guess. I was distracted. I was thinking about a patient from earlier.” He continued to go on as he bent down and offered his arm. Gold reached out hobbling to his feet and holding his breath against the pain.

"You shouldn’t be moving. Was it because of me you hurt your leg?”

 "I could say the same to you. Get in the car where it's dry.” He hobbled around to the driver’s side and slid back in, letting out a sharp breath when he pulled his ankle through. Had he sprained it? Reinjured it? When he lost his balance? The whole incident was beginning to blur in his mind.

 Dr. Hopper had run a hand across his head and was staring with wide eyes at the blood coating his fingers. "It’s just a small cut, really,” Gold said. Dr. Hopper lowered the sun visor, but it was old enough that there wasn't a mirror attached, so he leaned towards the rearview mirror, studying the cut, hissing a bit when he pulled the edges of it together. "It'll need stitches," he said under his breath, like he was always in some way really talking to himself.

"How's your arm?"

"Sprained I think.”

 They waited in awkward silence for the ambulance.

"You know I was going to be an orthopedist before I became a psychiatrist. You should let me look at your ankle sometime."

 "I just hit you with my car, and you want to help me?" he said incredulous. "I think you have a concussion.”

 "Ran me over, you mean."

 "Yeah that. Though if we're arguing semantics, there was no real running over.”

 "More just my body colliding with the hood of your car."

 "Yeah," Gold conceded not really feeling like he'd won the argument.

 Why were they arguing? Why were neither of them more concerned? He kept glancing towards Dr. Hopper, wondering if the head wound was really bad. Was he bleeding into his brain right now? Was that why he was so calm? Whatever it was it was having a calming effect on his nerves, and he found himself acting somehow cool and composed despite the anxiety and tension of the situation.

It was almost as if Dr. Hopper had expected to be hit by a car; just a normal occurrence in his day. He wasn't outraged. He had accepted it already. It was something that happened, and now what? He dealt with the aftermath and moved on with his life? Did that involve a lengthy lawsuit where he bled Gold for hospital bills to the point where he'd have to foreclose on his shop?

 Oh there was the anxiety, he noted in the shaking in his hands on the steering wheel, and he could feel his breath catching in his chest. He was breathing too fast, but he didnt think it was noticeable yet. He needed to get out. He wanted out of the car, wanted away from this. He just wanted to go home, have a nice warm cup of tea- settle down on the couch and listen to some music and finish the book he was reading while he elevated his ankle and laid a hot compress across it.

 “You just went really pale,” Dr. Hopper said.

He fumbled for the door handle. The panic making his heart beat so fast. He heard the sirens and he didn't want to go. Why did he think it was okay for Dr. Hopper to call?

 Dr. Hopper looked at him expectantly, but he wouldn't go. There was no way. He wouldn't get in the back of the ambulance. He wouldn't let them look him over, and he thought they would be distracted enough with Dr. Hopper that they wouldn't give him a second look. Dr. Hopper’s brow was knit in worry. He forced himself to take a few calming breaths through his nose. It was a tactic that didn’t always work, but when he opened the door and the cold wind hit his face some of the anxiety dissipated.

 

                        *****

“What happened?” One of the paramedics asked as he shone a pen light in Dr. Hopper's eye.

"Oh, I wasn't looking where I was going. Guess ther was rain in my eyes and I was distracted. I stepped out in front of Mr. Gold's car. But I think I'm okay. Just a few stitches and probably a sprained shoulder.”

 The paramedic raised an eyebrow.

 "Oh I'm a doctor," Dr. Hopper said in reply.

"Not to step out of line or anything, but aren’t you a psychiatrist?”

 "We receive all the same training as any other doctor. I had a rotation in emergency medicine."

 "Of course,” the paramedic said.

The accident had drawn a small crowd now, and Gold lingered back, hoping to dissapear into the black paint of his car and the dim lighting of the overcast evening. Most of the patrons from Granny's were gathered around, whispering and looking between the two of them, forming all kinds of nefarious plots about him, he was sure. They'd just love to be able to gossip about how Mr. gold was not only trying to bleed them dry but was now trying to run over the denizens of Storybrooke.

 

Gold took a step back when he saw Dr. Hopper wave in his direction. He shook his head. There was absolutely no way - no chance in hell that he was going to submit himself to the prodding of Storybrooke's paramedics. Especially not with this crowd gathered.

He couldn’t leave though, not after Dr. Hopper had lied – for what reason? To protect him? Or did he really believe that it was solely his fault, when in reality the fault lay mostly on Gold himself who knew he should have had his brakes inspected, but was currently so strapped for cash that he didn't have the means. The persona he presented to the world of owning half the town was far from the truth. Sure he collected rent but most of his money went to paying past medical bills for Neal and Milah. He stood there looking at the ambulance. It was hard to see how Milah had careened the car off the road. It still wasn't clear what had caused the accident, but it had cost both Neal and Milah their lives.

He had to get away. He was about to slide back into his car, damn the consequences- he'd make it up to Dr. Hopper later - give him free rent for a while or whatever it took. When the idiotic man himself stood up and came over to talk to him.

"You really should let them examine you. You're bleeding,” he said.

 “Where?” He looked down at his leg.

“I think you must have hit your head with the - with the impact.” Dr. Hopper said.

 

"Dr. Hopper, I assure you I'm perfectly fine. He tried to take a step back but his ankle still wouldn’t hold his weight. Archie caught his arm, pulling him close against his side. Dr. Hopper had a strange smell almost like mothballs and some sort of vague cologne scent. And oddly cigarette smoke. He wouldn’t have taken him for someone who wore cologne or smoked, but then there was very little he knew about the man. Dr. Hopper, for a person professing the benefits of baring ones soul, was quite an enigma.

 Really, Mr. Gold hadn't taken much time to consider the man before, but now his mind was going strange places.

Dr. Hopper led him over to the paramedic who was looking as baffled as Gold felt and had him sit on the edge of the ambulance. It was still raining and someone draped a blanket around his shoulders. He wanted to shrug it off. He wanted to leave and normally he would have, but there was some guilty part of him that was holding him there. He owed Dr. Hopper something and if this was it, he supposed he could grit his teeth and bear it, but still there was no way he was fully getting inside the ambulance. He wouldn't be able to hold himself together at all and he was already doing a piss poor job of keeping up appearances. Sydney was trying to shove his way through the small crowd, notebook in hand.

"What happened?" he could hear him saying.

"Some kind of accident," he heard Granny say in reply and then their voices dipped below his hearing threshold.

"Look, I'm fine."

“Can you tell us what happened?" The EMT was saying. "Where does it hurt?" He flicked the pen light back and forth over his eyes and Gold squinted painfully. He let the man take his pulse.

"Pretty high," he said, "though that's normal. You just had quite a shock. "

 "I’m fine,” he said again and there was more bite in his voice this time. "If you've subjected me to your battery of tests, I'd very much like to be going on my way."

“Better stick around you may need to submit a police report.”

"Oh, I don't want to press charges," Archie said.

 Gold looked at him incredulously.

 "Still it's the normal procedure. They’ll want a record of the incident.

"Surely that can wait," Dr. Hopper said.

 "It's not up to us. It's the sheriff’s duty.”

 Gold looked around not seeing David or Emma. There were very few mishaps in the small town and he wondered if they were even aware of the proper procedure, judging how this whole evening had been going so far.

 "Doesn't appear that you have a concussion, but it would be best for you both to come along to the hospital.” Dr. Hopper was rubbing his head, hissing painfully when his fingers came in contact with the wound.

"No point,” Gold said sharply taking the proffered cane from Dr. Hopper. "If that's all, I'll be on my way." He limped painfully towards his car.

 "You can't drive that," Dr. Hopper said. '

“I'll make do. My house is less than a mile from here.”

 Dr. Hopper looked at him with concern, and he found himself wanting to laugh. There was still blood smeared down half of Dr. Hopper's face, and he was gingerly holding his arm, and here he was concerned about Mr. Gold's wellbeing. His profession truly did suit him then.

His heartrate settled as he got back into his car and closed the door. Dr. Hopper was helped into the back of the ambulance and they moved off without sirens and the crowd around him dispersed.

He sighed leaning his head for the briefest moment against the steering wheel, trying to get his tumultuous thoughts in order, but he kept hearing the crunch of metal, and feeling the fear before he turned the corner.

He shook his head, feeling a growing headache behind his eyes, and drove slowly home, peering around the broken windshield, trying and failing not to replay the event, and sometimes he saw Neal and Milah, and he wondered what poor Neal had thought in those last moments, but it was too painful, and he let out a small sob in the driveway. He bit his tongue trying to stay quiet even thought there was no one around to care or hear. He limped painfully to the front door of his old Victorian house and collapsed onto the old couch, pulling his injured leg up and gasping with the pain, thinking he deserved it.

                           *****

Someone was banging on the door. He awoke, opening his eyes painfully. The pillow was stuck to his face and when he sat up he saw it was stained with blood. Why had he allowed himself to lie down like that? He was usually so meticulous and now the pillow was ruined. He sat up with a groan, the events of the night coming back to him. He thought about not answering the door, but the knocking wouldn't stop. Well it would for a moment and then start up again. With a groan, he pushed himself upwards and immediately fell back onto the couch when his right foot touched the ground.

"Christ," he clenched his eyes shut, tears forming, and clenched his teeth against the pain.

“Fuck," he wheezed out as the pain started to subside. He grabbed his cane off of the coffee table and hobbled over to the door, where the knocking was still going. Blood was pounding hard behind his eyes and he was ready to kill whoever was at this door. "What!” he shouted, pulling the door open and then regretted it when he saw Dr. Hopper take a step back.  There was a bandage wrapped around his head, and he had his arm in a sling.

 “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay?" The doctor asked.

The exertion of making it to the door had made sweat break out on his forehead and he thought he might throw up.

"Never better," he managed to ground out but he relented a little and stood aside. "Do you want to come in." He was hoping Dr. Hopper would be intuitive enough to perceive the obvious sign that he wasn't capable of staying upright much longer. With a cold feeling, he realized he hadn’t opened the shop. It had been a long while since he had been absent and that had only been the few days after what happened to Neal and Milah. The big house too overwhelming and work the only cure. Not that he could really stand the sympathy from the other townspeople, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing; even if he did have to go into the store room to try to stop himself form crying when he would see obvious signs of Neal in the store: some match cars he'd left on the floor in the corner, a drawing he had made at school that was tacked above the table that Gold usually worked at. He collected all those things and put them in a box where he wouldn't have to see them and then felt guilty about it, like he was trying to forget his son. 

Gold saw that Dr. Hopper was about to ask if he could do anything to help, but before he could do that Gold limped away from the door and led Dr. Hopper into the living room. He looked around taking in the immaculately decorated room: the sunlight drifting in lazily through the stained glass window high above the French windows. He tried to lower himself slowly onto the couch so as to not exacerbate the pain. He managed it somewhat, flipping over the bloody pillow and trying to hide it behind him. Did he have blood on his forehead? He tried to stop himself from raising a hand to check.

 "So what can I do for you Dr. Hopper?"

 The man in question gave a small huff of a laugh. "That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?"

"Well, I think our affairs wrapped up last night. If there's any form of compensation I can offer you, now's the time."

 "I told you I wasn’t interested in pressing charges. I was worried."

 "And why would that be?" Gold said leaning back, placing the cane he had still been gripping with white knuckles on the table.

Dr. Hopper sighed and sat back in the chair, steepling his fingers, and Gold had the distinct impression that this was probably how most of his patients felt. Scrutinized. He didn’t like it.  

 

He decided to relent a little. He had after all run the man over with his car, semantics be damned.

"I'm fine," he said. “I assure you. And besides you don't need to be worrying about me. You really are the archetypal psychiatrist," he said, leaning back wanting very much to elevate his ankle because it was starting to ache once again, not that it seldom ever offered him a reprieve.

 "I was worried about you because the pawn shop was closed. It's never closed," he said matter-of-factly. "I could only surmise something was wrong."

“Even I need a break every once in a while," Mr. Gold shrugged. "Surely, Dr. Hopper, you’re not a stranger to a holiday once in a while.

 “You can call me Archie.”

"I’d rather not"

 He watched Archie squirm a bit in his chair. Sure it was cold. But he really wanted nothing more to do with the man, especially now that he seemed focused on finding things out about Gold’s life.  Something heavy hung between them that neither of them was willing to pounce upon, just circling ever slowly.

He tensed up. He didn't want to have this conversation. He wasn't in the mood to bare his soul, especially with someone he had only had cordial interactions with before. He came by to collect the rent on occasion, gave Pongo a few pats on the head, and made agonizing small talk. Though usually with Dr. Hopper - no he wouldn’t be calling him Archie, this was going to be the last time they really interacted on a level outside of their business relationship, there was no need to be a on a first name basis – it really wasn’t that bad. He stayed quiet when Dr. Hopper looked at him expectantly, but something told him that the doctor was already aware he wouldn't be receiving an answer. The man was intelligent, quiet, and he was making a genuine effort to get to know him, but the idea of opening up to someone - really about anything - was exhausting.

“Look, I don’t want to pry or anything. Just thought we could sit around and watch tv...?” His voice quieted as he looked around. "You don't have one,” he said sheepishly.

"I read mostly," Gold said.

 "Well, I mean, of course I do too. I didn't mean I was just a slob who sits around watching reality tv, and b-horror movies, and Golden Girl reruns, or anything like that."

Gold had a feeling that that was precisely what he did in his spare time. For some reason it didn’t quite mesh with his somewhat spacey, egghead first impression he'd gained of Dr. Hopper, but then again he barely knew the man, and people were rarely what you first thought they were, especially someone as private as Archie - Dr. Hopper, he corrected himself in his mind.

All he really wanted to do was curl up on the couch and try to forget the things that had happened. That distinct and indelible feeling of having hit something with your car, and the panic it continued to ignite all through is body every time he thought of it. And Milah and Neal, but that he couldn't even think about it – no, he pushed the thought of them aside any time it came up.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look really deep in thought right now."

He blinked the room back into focus. Dr. Hopper was standing closer to him than he remembered, looking slightly concerned, but trying not to show it.

He used to get that look from people a lot after it happened. It was a look that was hard to escape. You saw it once and then you saw it everywhere. Pity. And he didn’t want it. He was beyond exhausted, just wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

"How about I put some tea on?"

How about you get out, he almost said, but bit his tongue at the last moment, the resounding thud of flesh against metal still echoing in his mind. He hated feeling guilty like this. It was another one of those pesky emotion that seemed to dog him. How did other people get through their days so unscathed?

“In the kitchen,” he said instead, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes when Dr. Hopper left the room.

 He liked the sound of someone else in the house, he thought vaguely. It had been too long, and for a moment he pretended that he wasn't alone, that Milah and Neal were still there with him, even if their marriage hadn't always been a happy one, they'd made things work, and Neal, oh god, his boy, he would do anything to see him again. He had to stop himself from crying, tasting blood as he bit his cheek.

 He heard Dr Hopper pulling the tea pot from the sink. He heard the familiar sound of the sink, the little high pitched whine it let out when the handle was pulled a little too far. Neal used to do the same thing. It had annoyed him then, now he wished he could hear it all the time. He leaned back, tried to pretend for that one small moment that nothing had ever changed, that his life hadn't gone off the rails, that he wasn't as alone as he really was.

 “This is really beautiful," he heard Dr. Hopper say form the kitchen, even though it was hard to hear over the running water.

 He tried to figure out what he might be talking about.

"The illustrations in this. I’ve never really seen anything like it before. They look like they're hand drawn."

Oh, he thought, Oh, and then he jumped up, ankle be damned, grabbed his cane and made it staggering in to the kitchen. He closed the book nearly slamming Dr. Hopper's hand in the pages.

He looked shocked and took a step back.

“Sorry didn't mean to pry. I just saw it sitting here and ..." he trailed off.

Gold felt hot, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. His hands were shaking and he wrapped his fingers around the cane to hide it. He propped himself up against the table.

"I'd like you to get out," he said, trying to control his voice, but he could hear the tremor in it, and he supposed that Dr. Hopper could as well.

"Really I'm sorry. I just thought they were really beautiful. I didn’t mean anything by it."

"I know... I know you didn’t, but I can't talk about it." The shaking was getting worse and he knew he wasn't breathing right, that it was the start of a panic attack and he wanted nothing more than to get out of the room, lock himself in the bathroom and ride it out without anyone else as a witness.

"Get out," he sound a little terser this time, some strength finding its way into his voice, even though he felt like he was about to collapse.

"Mr. Gold, take a deep breath."

“Don't you dare.. don’t you dare try to tell me what the fuck to do." He backed up and his shoulder hit the corner of the doorway, trying to avoid Dr. Hopper’s grip. His hands settled on his shoulders. And without thinking he swung the cane back as hard as he could, swinging it forward and catching Dr. Hopper in the shins.

“Get the fuck off me,” he growled. The grip on his shoulder loosened but didn’t drop away entirely, and he realized with horror that if not for Dr. Hopper he’d probably be on the floor. What a useless piece of shit he was, his back against the wall, his eyes filling with tears at how powerless and weak he was and so alone.

He tried not to indulge in self-pity, but it hit him like a wave, a hitch in his chest, and Dr. Hopper’s face blurred with the unshed tears that filled his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” his voice faltered, and he hated how he sounded, if he could just curl up and disappear, better yet just fucking die, there would be no problem. The fight went out of him, and he slid down the wall, his ankle giving out. Archie helped him down until they were both crumpled on the floor. Archie was saying something, but he couldn’t make it out over the rush of feeling in his own mind. And then his body betrayed him and he let out a sob, his voice hitching, trying to find words in-between to explain it away. Please – leave he tried to say, but his breath caught in his chest and he couldn’t get it out. He didn’t want to be seen like this, but he didn’t want to be alone. He felt it welling up, the thing he pushed down over and over again, denying himself the realization that he needed someone else, but no not after what happened. He deserved to be alone. He should have done something to stop Milah. She’d been drinking and he had known, and he still let her take his boy because for one goddamn night he’d been tired of fighting and that had been it. There was warmth around him, and he stiffened. Archie- Dr. Hopper was holding him, whispering something. A small part of him rebelled cried for him to pull away, it wasn’t dignified he didn’t allow anyone- ANYONE to see him this way, and yet here he was, and the damage was already done. But it was a passing thought, only registering in the fact that later he would regret this, later he would hate himself for being this visibly weak.

The thing was he knew just how weak and cowardly he was really was, but he did his best to hide it from everyone else. When people got too close that was when they saw the truth, that was when they realized who he really was. He bit back another sob, but couldn’t stop it, and Archie squeezed him tighter, the heat of another human body against his almost too much, and he gripped him back, digging his fingers into his shoulder, and burying his head against his shoulder.

 He felt fingers ghost through his hair, and he could smell Archie’s cologne and cigarette smoke, and he tried to draw himself closer, to feel that contact completely, to feel for if just a moment not so horribly alone.

He’d almost gotten to Neal before the paramedics had pushed him back, drawing his small broken body out of the back of the car. He’d been covered in blood, his eyes open and unseeing, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, and all the feeling had left Gold’s body, a horrible humming of something deep in his very bones, and he’d felt something leave him, and he went very cold and still, and the scene before faded in blotches of gray that seemed to match his erratic heart and when he opened his eyes next someone was kneeling next to him, telling him to put his head between his knees and breathe deeply.

 

“Where’s Neal,” he’d wheezed out and there just been a hand against his shoulder to tell him all that he needed to know. And that gutted feeling had been his only companion since. A numbness that gave away sometimes to a desire to harm, mostly himself, to take what little was left of him and destroy himself, but he was such a coward he couldn’t even manage that. He’d downed a handful of pills one night and ended up vomiting and delirious for the next twelve hours. He’d gone into work in the morning, because there was little else to do, feeling hung over and beaten. He hadn’t tried since. Not that the thought didn’t cross his mind. That would be something Dr. Hopper would love to know. He could already tell the man was a sucker for a hopeless case.

“Are you laughing,” Dr. Hopper asked.

“I- I don’t know,” he said against the fabric of Dr. Hopper’s shirt, the warmth of his own breath making condensation against his face.

“Crying and laughter are linked,” Dr Hopper said. “In the mind they’re incredibly close. This can’t be good on your ankle, how about we try to get you to the couch.”

He found he didn’t want to move. He hadn’t even been thinking about his ankle, but now that the focus had been drawn back, it was aching. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to lie. And you don’t deserve it.”

He grew very still. Was he that obvious? Dr. Hopper must have felt him stiffen in his grasp, because he relaxed his hold a little.

“Am I right?”

Gold didn’t say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge just how close to the truth he really was. That would mean giving up what little power he still had, giving himself up completely. He suddenly had the horrible thought that maybe this spectacle could be seen from the street, and he looked up suddenly, but no the shutters were closed.

He was starting to feel calmer, the panic subsiding leaving him feeling like he was floating and untethered not attached so intimately to his broken body, and he almost wanted to tell Dr. Hopper everything. How the book on the table was one that he and Neal had been illustrating and creating together. Fairytales. Neal would describe to him how the art should appear and Gold would sketch it. He’d wanted to be an artist at one point in life but it had never panned out, and it had become a hobby over time that he shared with Neal. He’d been looking at the piles of woven gold he’d meticulously drawn, wrapping and curling about itself, woven from straw, the spinning wheel against the stone wall of the tower, where its prisoner spent her lonely days. Neal had loved that page, and he’d colored each strand with patience that he didn’t know many ten year old boys to possess. He’d forgotten he’d left it on the kitchen table.

As the panic faded, shame found its way in just as he knew it would. And he pulled back from Dr. Hopper’s grip. “Forget this.”

Dr. Hopper gave him a sad almost incredulous smile that wrinkled the skin around his eyes. “You don’t have to be ashamed. You’re allowed to feel.”

Gold looked at the floor and didn’t say anything. He needed to stand.

“Don’t help me,” he said using the door frame behind him. He closed his eyes in pain and swayed as his ankle took his weight. His leg was mostly asleep and the feeling compounded the general deep ache of the damaged joint, but he was standing and even if Dr. Hopper was looking concerned his hands outreached, he hadn’t needed help.

“You need to learn better boundaries,” he ground out, feeling the shame flood his face. He waited for him to say something like, well you hugged me back, but it never came, and he looked up to see Dr. Hopper looking oddly bashful.

 “Sorry” he said. "You were in so much pain. I didn’t know what to do. When it happens to me that’s the only thing that really grounds me.”

 He didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to know about whatever the hell pain Dr. Hopper suffered through that made him break into panic attacks. He didn’t want to know the man that intimately.He didn’t want to let him in. He didn’t’ want to know him in that manner, to make him into someone real. But by god was there something weirdly endearing about him, his face flushed now. Like it wasn’t something he had done with any thought, his body had acted instinctually, seeing someone in pain, and it was all he could do to help that person.

That sort of kindness was so rare in Gold’s life he almost doubted the validity, but seeing the man he couldn’t help but see the truth. His bruised cheek, and the bandage around his head, and his arm in the sling, and now he’d probably bruised the man’s shins.

He was too embarrassed to say sorry again. “Go sit on the couch,” he said instead. Dr. Hopper went haltingly looking at Gold who followed him before grabbing a couple bags of frozen vegetables and ice packs out of the freezer.

 Maybe it was the comedown from the panic attack or Dr. Hopper’s expression earlier, and the hurt in his ankle now so in the forefront of his mind again, but he found he didn’t care if just for this one moment how Archie saw him.

"For your leg," he said dropping the ice pack by Dr. Hoppers uninjured arm. “I didn’t mean to lash out like that,” he conceded. “You really should sue me now.”

He fell into the couch next to him. Lifting his ankle until it was situated on the small coffee table. A small fleeting thought of laying it across Archies’ thigh entered his mind. Where he would hold the icepack to it and Gold could just lie back and close his eyes, but no and he couldn’t believe just how addled he had to be to have a thought like that. Would Archie tell everyone when he left the house about what he’d seen of Mr. Gold here today?

“I shouldn’t have been prying. I was just so intrigued by the art in the book.”

“I shouldn’t have reacted that way,” Gold sighed, his shoulders aching with the stress and empty days that had knotted the muscles as he leaned forward hooking the frozen peas over his ankle. “Sometimes it’s all I can do. Fight or breakdown. It’s usually not both.” He was about to say something like don’t tell anyone but wasn’t sure how to phrase it without sounding harsh, when Archie broke in.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

Gold looked at the wall and crossed his arms. It was unsettling being read like that.

“Sorry. I suppose that’s presumptive.”

“No. Don’t tell anyone.”

Archie gave a small smile. He could tell he didn’t want to make a show of putting the icepack against his shins. The man cared too much. How broken was he really to care more about someone else’s pain than his own?

He felt so tired, all the fight lost with the panic attack. “You can look at the book if you want.” He settled down against the pillows. “Neal colored it.” He heard himself say as if from faraway. He leaned his head back against the sofa, feeling himself slipping, and the sounds of the room losing focus.

“How about when I come by the next time?”

“Okay,” he said, and he thought maybe he meant it. At least in that still moment, where everything faded to a gentle hum, and the knowledge that there was someone else in the house – he found he could believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finishing up all my half finished stories and this ones been on hiatus for more than a year. I figured I might as well try to write an ending. This is my fav OUAT crack ship. But I mean can't you just see it working out for these two? At least I hope this bleak story had a bit of a happy ending or a hint of one. I'll probably go over this again because I'm trying to edit it at 3 in the morning and my eyes are going screwy. Anyway thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit: Holy tense change, Batman. The first part of this story was oringinally in present tense and I thought I'd changed it but I just came across a large chunk I'd missed. So if you were thrown by that, I apologize.


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